


Wicked Wands

by capnbucko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ilvermorny, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:38:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capnbucko/pseuds/capnbucko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian's spent his whole life on the run. From his father, from his true identity, and lately from the Scourers looking to make a quick buck off of him. </p><p>It's only when his aunt, and headmistress of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Meira gives him the option to stop hiding and allow her to give him the protection he needs does he add another item to his list. </p><p>It may or may not have to do with the angry headboy who seems to hate him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Wands

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work being posted on here, so go easy on me! Also, I'm not entirely sure if I want to finish this or not.

There’s something about the way the sticks crunch underneath Sebastian’s feet, about the way they sound like broken bones and fractured limbs, that makes the kid grin through the crisp October air. It’s not the only sound he hears — there are shouts, and curses, and the whizzing of a spell as he narrowly dodges past it — but he tunes all of those out. He tunes everything out. That’s the trick about being on the run; you acquire selective hearing. You hear what you need to hear, or you don’t hear at all. Makes things easier that way. Then again, Sebastian never was one to settle for easy.

The damned kid doesn’t have a wand, or at least he doesn’t have a wand that swore allegiance to him, so half of the spells he yells over his shoulder, with a flick of his wrist, miss because wands are stubborn as hell and loyal like a dog. Sebastian hates wands. 

He prefers cracked knuckles and bloody smiles. 

He’s breathing hard, his chest aching from the pressure he’s putting on his lungs, but it’s a burn and Sebastian can deal with burns. He deals with burns like a No-Maj deals with taxes and death. 

He screeches to a halt when he sees it, grabbing onto the nearest tree to stop him from hurtling past it, and swings around. He ignores the insistent thumping of his heart in his ears, ignores the thunder of the scourer’s footsteps coming in closer, he ignores the whisper of the threes and instead sets his eyes hard on the creature staring straight at him. 

Dark fur, a black pool for eyes, a low snarl. The wolf pounds his right paw across the dirt in fury. 

“As much as I would love to continue this argument, _Dad_ ,” Sebastian hisses at the wolf, “I’m sort of running for my life here, so if you could just—”

It was a half-assed attempt, and he knew that, so he anticipated the lunge at him when Sebastian tried to make an escape. The kid side stepped instantly, sending the wolf grasping at air and crashes into the forest floor with a howl and a human-like whine. 

Sebastian’s father always did like his wine with his betrayal. 

The wolf got back on four feet within a half-second of following and turned his fiery gaze back on his son. A loud crack echoed into the air before the animal could pounce, a long green curse shooting fast towards them. It missed, finding its target in a tree, and Sebastian watched it split straight down the middle and thunder to the ground.

“Sorry, Pops,” Sebastian laughs, bouncing on the heels of his feet. Fuck, he lived for this. “Gotta bounce. It was great catching up, but don’t RSVP me for the family reunion. No offense, but you’re kind of a _beast_.”

The wolf snarled and pounced — but Sebastian was already gone, a loud crack in his stead.

 

Sebastian swallows apparating like he swallowed the measly poor man’s meals he was forced to shove down his throat if he wanted even an inch of energy to survive a life on the run, with a bottle of liquor to ease the stirring in his stomach and a couple of words that weren’t for the kind-hearted. 

He doesn’t like the way it felt; it’s like being confined into the smallest space you could imagine, where body meets wall meets wall, and then suddenly, the walls start pressing in. Sebastian never liked small confinements. Sebastian never liked a lot of things, but that’s a story for at least ten swigs in. 

The kid knows before he’s even stepped into the foreclosed house that someone else is inside. Not the crazy, suburban rich kids who perform bullshit rituals in empty houses and play truth or dare over a Ouija board. No, this someone is magical, and this someone is intruding. 

“Did you know,” Sebastian calls loudly, stepping into the house he’d been squatting in for the past few days, “breaking and entering is frowned upon in the moral confines of the law—” A woman steps out from the shadows, seeming as if she’d appeared out of thin air. “—but you already knew that, didn’t you, Headmaster? If you’ve come to arrest me, I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait your turn.”

Meira Lancaster is only the fraction of a woman. She was all pale skins, and fragile bones, and a tragic height deficiency. Any of her students towered over her — including the pygmy first years — but she had eyes that screamed power and the occasional magically-acquired step stool. “You know why I’m here, Sebastian.”

“And, you know my answer, Meira.”

“ _Headmistress_.”

Sebastian pointed her with a look. “You’re not my Headmistress and you never will be. Ilvermorny is pretentious, and full of stuck up brats who toss around exploding balls and gossip about which witch is richer."

“Quodpot is a very popular sport, that I believe you’d be very good—”

“I’d denounce it on the name alone. I mean, _quodpot_? Really? No wonder the Brits hate us.”

Meira pressed her lips together tightly and send Sebastian a look of disapproval. Meira lived to disapprove. “I can offer you protection,” she says, finally.

“I’ve got it under control,” Sebastian replies, but his curiosity is piqued.

“Do you? How many times has he found you in the past week?”

Sebastian’s hard eyes speak volumes.

“Sebastian—”

“I’m an adult,” he reminds her, angrily. “I can make my own decisions.”

“You’re sixteen. You’re a _child_.”

“Not yours! I’m not your son, Meira, and I’m sure as hell never going to be your student.”

Meira stares at him with hard eyes, and then just as quickly, the look disappears. 

She shrugs. “Well, that’s your decision then.”

Sebastian wasn’t sure he heard her right. “Wha—”

“You’re right,” she continued, fumbling around in the bag she had slung across her shoulders until she found what she was looking for: a stark white wand. She turned an unconcerned expression on Sebastian. “You’ve got it completely under control, correct? You don’t need my protection. You’ll never be my student. I think even the headmaster of a pretentious boarding school can take a hint, right? Oh, tell your father I said hi, would you?”

The blood left Sebastian’s face so fast, he almost wished he had a bottle of liquor to drain with it. “You lead him here.”

Meira just pockets her wand and holds out her hand. 

“Fuck you for this,” Sebastian hisses, but he grabs her upper arm anyways and he disapparates for the second time that day. Only this time, he ends up in the one place he swore he’d never step foot in. 

 

Sebastian’s first thought when they apparate on the Ilvermorny grounds is that he was one hundred percent correct on the pretentious front. The place is a fucking castle. Castle’s don’t exist in America, and yet, here they were. Passing through the gates that led to the grounds that led to the marble statues that led to a fucking castle that existed in America. 

“Pretentious,” he sings to Meira, but she either doesn’t hear him or she ignores him. Sebastian’s glad they’re on the same page when it came to their budding friendship. 

When they first enter through the pretentious (okay—he’ll stop) front doors, Meira leads him into a circular room which, at first glance, isn’t much. At second glance, it still isn’t much, but Sebastian notices the room is topped by a glass cupola, and awooden balcony stares down at them. He lets out a soft noise of approval, because he’s not one to deny that the open space is breathtaking. 

“Welcome,” Meira starts, no doubt pausing for a dramatic effect, “to Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

He doesn’t give her the approval she’s clearly fishing for, and instead asks, “When can I eat?”

Her arms, outstretched but lacking in grandeur, drop lamely to her sides. “That’s the first question that comes to your mind?”

“No, the first question that comes to mind is ‘What the fuck are those wood carvings and why are they staring at me?’ but I have a feeling that’s a question you’ll enjoy answering, so I’ll refrain.”

“Great question!” Meira beams, like Sebastian hadn’t spoken the second half of his sentence. She grabs Sebastian by his sleeve and tugs him towards the carvings that resembled four different creatures. “These are the houses,” she breathes, like she’s seeing them for the first time. “Horned Serpent, Wampus, Thunderbird, and Pukwudgie.”

“Those aren’t the names.”

“Of course they are,” Meira replies, distractedly, and Sebastian thinks any moment now she’s going to reach out and start petting the damned things.

“Uh huh, and what does Hogwarts think about you guys ripping them off?”

This piques Meira’s interest. “We didn’t _rip them off_. Hogwarts was named after the founders themselves. Ilvermorny is named after the various creatures the Founders had come in contact with — including ones that still live on the grounds to this day.”

“Right, okay. Horned Serpent is clearly Slytherin, right? The whole snake is evil thing, gotcha. Wampus — that’s like a panther, yeah? Gryffindor’s the lion, so sticking with the big cat theme. Thunderbird? Ravenclaw? Speaks for itself, and — well, I have no idea what the fuck a Pukwudgie is, but it sounds almost as ridiculous as Hufflepuff. So, yeah, you guys ripped off Hogwarts.”

Meira doesn’t look pleased, so she merely says, “Moving on,” and they’re off. 

“You’ll receive an official tour of the grounds tomorrow after you’re sorted into your house and you receive your schedule.”

“Wait.” Sebastian stop in his tracks, his eyebrows narrowing. “You actually expect me to go to school here? To take classes? As a 6th year student?”

“This is a school, so I would expect you to take classes, yes. For the academia part, I can assign you a tutor but I’ve seen some of the spells you’ve cast and I think you’re up for the challenge. Speaking of which—” Meira held out her hand expectantly. “Your wand.”

“Yeah, no.”

“You’ll receive a new one tomorrow. One that’s uniquely yours. That one doesn’t work very well, does it? That’s because you’re not its master.”

“I stole it. It swears allegiance to me.”

“Did you disarm its previous master? Stun him? _Kill_ him?” Sebastian’s silence was answer enough. “Then, the wand doesn’t belong to you. Give it here. You’ll get one that truly belongs to you after your ceremony.”

Sebastian sighs, reaching into the heel of his dark boots to pull out his wand, and then reluctantly hands it over. Meira smiles, and Sebastian regrets not letting his father have him. 

“You can sleep here tonight,” she tells him, leading him through a wooden door labeled Staff’s Quarters. She stops at the third door on the right labeled 103, and taps her wand against the door in an intricate fashion. The door opens with a click, and she ushers him into the room. It’s a bland square box, and Sebastian already feels like the walls are closing in. There’s a window on the far wall, a twin bed pressed to the left side wall, and a desk shoved against the right. “Once you’ve received your house, you’ll get your own room. Well, you’ll have to share it with a roommate, but half of it will be yours to do with as you please.”

She pauses, as if letting Sebastian take in all of the information she’s given him so far. Once she’s sure he’s not going to bolt out the window or something equally as reckless, she flicks her wand at the desk, and a steaming plate of what appears to be grilled cheese sandwiches is suddenly there. Sebastian regards it hungrily.

“Eat,” she tells him, but her voice has lost that academic tone and is soft around the edges. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

She turns, her robes swishing as she does so, but she pauses back at the door. “One more thing. I think it’s safe to assume that attending under your surname is particularly dangerous for not only yourself but the other students of this school. You’ve got all night to come up with a new one.”


End file.
